He stared aimlessly at the shelf in front of him, zoning out. He was exhausted, and wanted to crawl into bed. But Jackie had called him at the Fotohut, and told him how she had ran out of pads and tampons, Laurie had the toyota, and Kitty was at work. He told her he would grab them for her, much to her surprise and gratefulness. It was late, probably around nine o'clock, around the time that most of the town went to sleep. The radio played disco lowly, and the lighting of the seedy twenty-four hour pharmacy flickered over the feminine hygiene section where he stood.

The pharmacist was arguing with a woman a few aisles over. The middle aged woman, blonde haired and slim with a too-big rack, was obviously half in the wrapper. He scoffed at the thought, eyes roaming over the selection in front of him, choosing to just bury his curly head in the sand like an ostrich.

Wings, no wings, pink, green. Did wings matter? What about color? What size should he get? These were all questions he hadn't thought to ask, and the staff seemed busy with the intoxicated woman. The woman walked down his aisle, and knocked over the boxes of home pregnancy tests behind him, blowing raspberries, and sticking up her middle fingers. He ignored her, weighing his options for his girlfriend. She stopped, and he continued staring at the selection. He grabbed the two biggest variety packs of pads and tampons, before hurrying to the register, where the woman noisily chewed her gum.

"How sweet, for your mama?" She asked, and he shook his head. "For my chick." He handed her his cash, and she counted, before hitting a button on the register.

Footsteps shuffled up behind him.

"Steven?" An unmistakable voice slurred into the air, as the woman bagged what he had just paid for. He thanked the woman, ignoring how the hair on the back of his neck stood up. He turned around to see Edna, in all her glory. The smile on her face was toothy, but most of them were gone, showing only spaces, and black teeth. Her gums were a nasty brown color, and her face sunken in. She was on more than just alcohol, he wasn't stupid. She was turning yellow.

He almost vomited when he saw her arms, and her sunken in veins. His sadness immediately turned into anger. Towards her, selfishly because he wanted his mother to be a mother, but also because other people were taking care of him. He loved Red and Kitty, and they were his parents, but rarely he felt he missed home. He knew addiction, he saw Laurie go through it.

But he also watched Laurie pull herself out of it, clawing her way up from her own rock bottom. Edna never even tried, as far as he was concerned.

"What do you want?" He spat at her. On instinct purely, but the sight pulled on his heart. She was worse for wear, worse than she's ever been, and she was standing right in front of him. He scoffed, before turning around and storming out the entrance.

She followed, stumbling quickly, calling out for him again. She spilled her guts onto the cement beside the Camino. He slammed his door. "I haven't seen you since you abandoned me. Why do you expect me to listen to you? I have to bring this to Jackie."

"You're sure working to nail this chick, Steven, give it up. She's uninterested, has been since you met her." She slurred angrily, leaning against the car, before throwing up again. She smelled awful, that was the only way he could describe it. He frowned, knowing he couldn't leave her in the parking lot. No matter how much she had hurt him, mentally and physically, he knew if something happened to her, he would never forgive himself.

He could drive her to the hospital, it wasn't far from here.

He helped her into the passenger seat, and handed her a paper bag. "Puke in my car, and you're walking." He told her. He frowned, starting the car as she started to mumble jumbled garbage. Before she said something that caught your attention.

"Your Daddy is so perfect. Fuck him." She slurred, hitting the dashboard. He scoffed. "Bud's just as much a moron as you." His old neighborhood whizzed by as he drove too fast. He didn't want her in his car. His stomach turned at the thought.

"No, William."

"Who the hell is William?" He asked, furrowing his brows. "Bud, Edna. You fucked Bud and he left you." He told her. "And Jackie isn't just some chick, she's my chick, and I love her. More than anything."

"Bud was a moron. Your Daddy's name is William. Barnett. He and I were soulmates. If I ever told him I was pregnant, it would have been over anyway. Love isn't real, Steven." His name on her lips was awful. Not like how Jackie, or Kitty says it.

The emergency room parking lot pulled into view, and he quickly made the turn, pulling into the vallet. A nurse outside helped her out of the car.

Before the woman could ask, he pulled the door closed, and drove off. His head spun in circles. He almost felt guilty for leaving her. But he really didn't leave her alone, but with a nurse.

His heart raced, his mouth was dry. He needed Jackie, and Foreman, and he needed a circle.

Bud wasn't actually his father? His mother was a lunatic. Of course Bud is his Dad.

The lights were almost all off when he went home, charging up the stairs, face pale like he'd seen a ghost. Jackie was asleep, so he gingerly kissed her forehead, tucked her in, and just lay next to her.

He listened to her breathing, turning over, and burying his face into her stomach. She was out cold, and he just lay there. Her hand rested on his curls. "Are you awake?" He whispered, voice cracking. She didn't answer.

He lay there for a while, before slowly getting up, and walking down the stairs. A stark contrast to how frantic he had been on his way up the stairs. His footsteps were calm into the basement, and through the alcove. He came to a box sitting right under his cot, and blew the dust off, coughing.

Health insurance, school records, old learners permits. He pulled out his birth certificate, sealed in an envelope, and gingerly opened it. He ran his fingers over the seal, and saw that under where the father's signature was, the name William Barnett had been messily scrawled out in what he had recognized as his mother's own sloppy chicken scratch.

An unknown feeling bubbled up in his stomach, as he shoved the box back under his bed, and moved toward the shower. The warm water did nothing to calm his tensed up body. His thoughts swirled in a chaotic manner. His cot felt uncomfortable when he finally lay down again. He tossed and turned, before giving up, and stalking up the stairs. He creeped into the purple bedroom, and crawled under the purple down comforter.

"Steven?" A small voice jumbled.

"Yeah, Doll, it's me." She rolled over, cupping his face.

"You okay, Puddin Pop?"

He didn't respond. He just pulled her into his embrace, and drifted off to sleep.